Ultimate Mid-life Crisis

by Adam Graham

  Dave grimaced. “I think someone should call you a cab.”

  “Call me a cab?” She glanced at her outfit and her checkered purse and laughed. “Yes, mustn’t have the nasty woman messing things up, have to keep things under control. Just like a man.”

  Dave whispered in Naomi’s ear, “Powerhouse has got to appear.”

  “See you later, hon.” She glowered at Leona. “What are you doing here?”

  “Barbara is a dear friend, and this is her fortieth birthday. Why should I not be here to celebrate? She may be working for my dread rival, but that was the right thing for her to do, per my teachings in, Be Loyal to You. Two things I must say for McCall.” Leona held up the glass. “He serves excellent liquor, and it’s not every employee who gets a boss to throw a party like this for her.”

  Lord, forgive me. I can’t wait to see the look on that witch’s face when she realizes McCall is more than Barbara’s boss.

  Dave sped down the hall and spotted a door marked supply room. Ah ha! The one advantage of wearing a suit; I can do a classic superhero change.

  He removed his tie and superimagined the door opening. He went inside, disrobed, and changed to Powerhouse. He shrunk the formal clothes to doll-sized and slipped them inside a compartment in his armor.

  Now to simply fly out the window. Powerhouse looked around. Why no window? Come to think of it, why would a storage room have a window?

  Maybe at the Daily Planet, they were using an old office as a storage room. Powerhouse grinned. That had to be it. All was again right with the world. He peaked out the door.

  A blonde woman in a white restaurant uniform pushed pink cake down the hall with “4-0” on it.

  Powerhouse closed the door. A moment later, he reopened it, crept out, and tiptoed down the hall back to the party.

  The room broke into applause.

  Powerhouse nodded to the crowd and slipped through them to Brent McCall and Barbara, who looked up. She squinted at him. “Powerhouse?”

  “Yes, my friend Mr. McCall asked me to come by. Happy birthday.”

  She shook his hand. “Thank you.”

  McCall smiled. “Well, you’ve got other things to attend to.”

  Ooh, that was his cue. “Right, I do. Excuse me.” Powerhouse turned on his jet pack on its lowest setting, rose above the crowd at about ten miles an hour, and sailed over the band that was on the stage. He landed backstage.

  Standing there was the Silver Medal.

  Powerhouse gasped and folded his arms. “What dreaded dastardly deeds have you dared to devise?”

  Silver Medal blinked. “None, I’m here from an agency. They said they needed a Kung Fu dancer, and that was on my list of job proficiencies.”

  Powerhouse scratched his helmet. “So you’ve gone straight?”

  “You kidding?” Silver Medal laughed. “Nah, my undocumented business is doing poorly. That forced me to resort to picking up extra jobs. I’m hoping, between my temp work and my massage therapy, I can get back on my feet and get out of this wretched life of honesty.”

  “Aren’t you still wanted by the police?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t kept track. You can haul me in just in case, but you’d ruin your friend’s party. I suggest a truce for tonight.”

  Powerhouse grunted and raised his finger. “If you pick a single pocket, I’ll take you in.”

  Silver Medal sneered. “Really, a master criminal, picking pockets? If you warned me not to destroy every living thing on Earth, or you’d take me in, that would be appropriate. Insult me again, and I’ll open a can of science on you. Now let me slip on my costume.” He ducked behind a screen and came out dressed as a remote control.

  Powerhouse blinked. “Who are you supposed to be?”

  “That hack, Remote Master.”

  “Remote Master looks nothing like that.”

  “I sympathize, but the costume designer decided people wouldn’t know who I was supposed to be if I dressed like him, and it does fit our number.”

  A short, balding man dashed behind the screen and returned dressed in the costume of his old arch rival, Mister Manners.

  Silver Medal asked, “Is anyone going to dress up as Dr. Stero?”

  Powerhouse said, “No. I didn’t beat Dr. Stero.”

  Silver Medal smiled. “Yes, you needed my help.”

  In through the exit came a chubby man in a white rhinestone outfit who looked just like the King.

  Silver Medal laughed. “Elvis has entered the building.”

  “Thank you, thank you very much.” The King grinned at Powerhouse and pointed at him like his hands were guns. “Hey, man. Long time no see.”

  Powerhouse blinked. “Do I know you?”

  “From the zoo.”

  Powerhouse slapped his helmet. “Oh, of course.”

  Silver Medal asked, “You met at the Woodland Park Zoo?”

  “No, aliens kidnapped me and imprisoned me in an interplanetary zoo. Elvis Junior here is a clone of Elvis Senior. We escaped along with Big Foot and the Loch Ness monster.”

  Silver Medal shook his head. “You have all the fun.”

  “Comes with being the good guy.”

  Silver Medal grunted.

  Out on stage, Brent McCall’s voice boomed over a mic. “Thank you, friends. We’re here to celebrate a very special lady’s birthday. Let’s give it up for the birthday girl.” There were cheers. “Now, Barbara loves opera and the symphony. Yet, her closest friend know there’s another side to her musical tastes. She has a favorite song some people wouldn’t expect.”

  Silver Medal clapped. “That’s our cue!”

  The fake Remote Master and the Fake Mister Manners headed towards the stage as a classic song played. “Everybody was Kung Fu fighting . . .”

  Powerhouse waited a minute and went out on stage.

  The crowd roared as he and the fake supervillains danced in a pretend fight. It ended with Powerhouse giving final, soft kicks to “Mister Manners” and “Remote Master.”

  The crowd applauded, including Naomi. She laughing at him when it was okay for once.

  Powerhouse and the two dancers bowed and then marched backstage. Powerhouse crept to the left side of the stage, where he could get a good view of the rest of the festivities.

  Barbara was laughing and smiling. Brent McCall held her right hand. “I want to tell you something, with help from someone who can express my feelings better than I can. Here to sing ‘September Song’ is the world’s greatest Elvis impersonator, direct from Las Vegas.”

  The party applauded.

  Elvis came to the mike and sang. McCall stood staring into Barbara’s eyes as Elvis crooned. Elvis concluded, “As the days dwindle down to a precious few, these precious days I’ll spend with you.”

  The crowd again applauded, minus Barbara. She continued staring up into McCall’s eyes.

  He cleared his throat. “In our line of work, you see everything that goes wrong in families. So you don’t jump into things. In many cases, you don’t even consider jumping in until you meet someone you’re willing to risk the great pain of failure for the chance to spend your life with her.” Brent fell to his knees. “Barbara, will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

  Naomi’s probably bawling right now. Powerhouse’s eyes stung. Can’t reach through the helmet to wipe the tears. He imagined them gone.

  Barbara choked out, “Yes.”

  Thunderous applause rose.

  Silver Medal blubbered onto Powerhouse’s arm. “That was so beautiful.”

  Powerhouse frowned and shook him off. “Dude, seriously.”

  Silver Medal cleared his throat. “This won’t end up in the comic books, will it?”

  “I’ll do my best to forget it happened.”

  A voice screeched, “Are you mad?”

  Powerhouse turned.

  Leona Campbell stormed up to Barbara. “Really, after all I’ve done for you, you’re going to go off with this—this man?”

  Barbara hung
her head. “Leona, please. I love him.”

  “Oh, yes, love. Last time you fell in love, you were nineteen, and he spent the next seven years smacking you around until I helped you get away from him, took your case pro bono, helped you get your GED, gave you a career, and even got your daughter a recommendation to the Naval Academy. And it appears I wasted all that effort on you.”

  Scowling, McCall stepped in between Barbara and Leona. “Campbell, you leave my fiancée alone.”

  “Ooh, the gallant gentleman!” Leona snorted. “What an act. We all know what this is about. You grew more prominent when you destroyed my career. To you, my dear Barbara is just a trophy.”

  “That is not true!” McCall clasped Barbara’s hands and said softly, “It’s not true.”

  Leona stared at Barbara. “I thought you had some sense. The only reason I didn’t come up here sooner is it took a while for it to sink in you’d said yes rather than telling him you have no interest in being once again bound by men in an oppressive institution of man’s world.”

  Barbara sniffled as her cheeks reddened.

  Seething, Powerhouse stormed over to Leona. “Stop it. You’re ruining her birthday. This isn’t a golden age comic, and you’re not Wonder Woman.”

  “Get out of the way, you patriarchal, mental pygmy.” Leona snarled. “I’m only ruining her birthday so she doesn’t ruin her life.”

  Powerhouse flexed his arm muscles. “Mr. McCall, should I remove her?”

  “Don’t you dare touch me!” Leona yanked herself back from him. “I’ll file a lawsuit that’ll bankrupt your insurance company.”

  Powerhouse imagined a sound-dampening force field surrounding Leona.

  She stood on the stage, ranting and raving with no sound coming out.

  The stone-faced audience relaxed into chuckles.

  She turned on them, yelling at them soundlessly.

  Everyone continued to laugh.

  Powerhouse smirked. “Leona, you can hear us, but we can’t hear you.”

  She sneered and screamed silently in Powerhouse’s direction.

  The language she’s using makes me wish I hadn’t learned to lip read. Powerhouse folded his arms. “As soon as you leave the building, the bubble will disappear.”

  She shook her fist as she mouthed to Powerhouse, “One day, I’ll find some way to make you pay for this.”

  Powerhouse groaned. Yeah, right. How many times had he heard that this summer from people who could build their own giant robots?

  Barbara wept into McCall’s chest. “She did a lot for me, but I love you.”

  “My job here is done. Powerhouse away.” He jogged to the exit.

  The janitor was at the supply closet.

  Drat. He dashed towards a conference room. Powerhouse imagined the door opened, entered, closed the blinds, glanced out the door to make sure no one was around, and changed back into Dave Johnson.

  Dave jogged back towards the ballroom.

  He found McCall talking to Naomi.

  Dave panted as he stopped by them. “Did I miss anything?”

  McCall stared. “I’d say so. Powerhouse appeared, did a dance number, then saved the party when Leona Campbell tried to ruin it.”

  “Sorry I missed it.” Dave glanced around. “Where’s Barbara?”

  “She needed a few minutes, but she’ll be fine. Anyway, sorry you missed the excitement.” McCall walked on to speak to another guess.

  Naomi touched his hand. “Let’s get some punch.”

  “Okay.” He followed her over to a deserted area by the punch bowl.

  She glanced around and whispered, “Poor Barbara was mortified.”

  “Thanks to her ex-boss.” Dave grunted.

  “I meant over what you did to Leona. Did you really have to put her in the bubble?”

  “What else could Powerhouse have done? If he’d picked her up, it would be assault and sexual harassment. She deserved what she got, and that was the funniest thing I could think of.”

  Naomi gasped. “You enjoyed it!”

  Dave chuckled. “She had it coming.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an appropriate use of your powers.”

  “You don’t like her anymore either.”

  “True, but she’s lost her job, her money, and her house as a result of our legal malpractice suit. Maybe she’s suffered enough.”

  After what she’d put them through? “It’s not like I’m maliciously stalking her to make her life miserable. She was ruining Barbara’s party.”

  “Yeah, but you can push a person too far, and she’s a little unstable.”

  “A little?” Dave snorted, shaking his head. “Thankfully, this isn’t a comic book, or she’d become a supervillain over this incident.”

  Dressed as the Pharaoh, Mitch Farrow leaned back in his underground office, staring up at the monitor which showed the inside of a limousine. One of his men shoved in a tad, ah, puffy woman with a pixie cut. Must be Leona Campbell. Her red eyes had dark circles. She had all the signs of a hangover after Powerhouse had humiliated her at the previous night’s party.

  She groaned. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “I’m the Pharaoh,” he said into a microphone that distorted his voice.

  “I know you.” She sneered. “You were behind that whole Robolawyer thing that allowed Powerhouse to showboat.”

  “That was an unfortunate situation.”

  “Yes, it’s regrettable that you didn’t kill him.”

  “Well then, Miss Campbell, that brings us to the point of this. I believe I can help you.”

  “Forget it. I don’t need a man’s help.”

  Time to change directions. Pharaoh bit his lip. “Sorry, that was poorly put. You are capable of helping yourself, if you can get out of your pity party.”

  “How dare you!”

  “Miss Campbell, since your disbarment and bankruptcy, you’ve spent your free time whining on Live Journal about how much life sucks.”

  She gasped. “That’s an anonymous journal.”

  “To the right people, nothing on the Internet is anonymous. You ran for Attorney General of this state. You’ve come down in the world, but you could do better for yourself than this. You’re wallowing in being a victim and have let yourself to become a martyr for self-actualization and feminism. I need you to come out of it, and let me empower you for a greater goal.”

  “Men don’t dominate enough of the world already for your liking?”

  Best not to suggest she could become the empress. She was too crazy for that. “How would you like to both ruin Naomi Johnson’s marriage and see Powerhouse dead and disgraced?”

  Leona perked up. “May I have a drink?”

  Whoa. It was only ten o’clock in the morning. Even he wasn’t this bad. Usually. “Sorry, didn’t bring any this time.”

  “I’ll improvise.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a marijuana joint, and puffed on it, her face settling back into a relaxed state. “Tell me more.”

  Joshua Speed strode through the halls of the Wellesley College wearing his olive army dress uniform. He’d never expected to be here, but he’d also never expected Wanda Malloy’s “angle” in asking to meet him and get coffee with him to simply be to trick him into taking her out on a date. Nor would he have dreamed he’d enjoy it and ask her out several more times.

  He came to a glass door. Its sign said, “Dr. Agata Borawski.”

  He knocked. “Dr. Borawski.”

  A slightly accent voice came. “Come in.”

  He opened the door.

  Sitting behind the desk and wearing a gray floral dress was Dr. Borawski, a short stout woman in her mid-twenties.

  Wafting from in front of her was the smell of pastries.

  She stood. “You didn’t wear the costume you wore the day you rescued my family.”

  Speed laughed. “I thought this uniform would be less of a sensation on the campus of a women’s college.”

  Dr. Borawski smiled. “You’ve
not met the political science people then.”

  “I ran into one on the way and got a lecture on the Cold War, alleging it’s a simple misunderstanding. That’s why I’m late.” He shook her hand. “Thanks for meeting with me, Professor.”

  “It is nothing. You saved my life and brought me to America, where I can teach and achieve great things.”

  “Not many women your age have a doctorate.”

  “And not many men, either.” She gestured. “Have a seat, Major.”

  Speed sat. “Since I’m here in uniform, I’ve been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. For the costumed bit, though, my old friend Ace said to always keep Major Speed, that it sounds better than any alternative.”

  His chest ached. It seemed like yesterday that Ace died even though it’d been nine months. What Ace would say about this whole time paradox thing?

  “Colonel?”

  Speed blinked. “Sorry.”

  “Would you like a tree cake?”

  “Sure.” Speed accepted from her a fork and a plate holding a triangular cutting off a round, hollow yellow cake made in a bakery by slathering layers of batter onto a roasting spit. He took a trial bite and nodded. “It’s delicious.”

  “Thank you, now what can I help you with?”

  “A friend has a problem that concerns time travel.”

  She leaned back. “I’m listening.”

  Speed gave an anonymous version of the story, omitting any details that could be vital to national security.

  Dr. Borawski said, “So what’s your friend’s problem?”

  “He’s sure the woman he’s dating is related in some way to the woman he met in the twenty-first century. He’s afraid, by dating the woman alive in our time, he might cause Karen to never exist.”

  Dr. Borawski cupped her hands together. “You bring me an interesting problem. You, or your friend rather, will have a difficult decision.”

  “Ma’am, that’s why I am asking advice on his behalf.”

  “Yes, well, I would lean towards the theory that Karen’s presence in the twenty-first century will not be affected by your friend’s relationship with her ancestor. The future your friend was in was a reality where his return to 1957 had already happened, so it was anticipated. Some of the feelings he had for Karen could even be because she is his descendant.”